


Mission: Improbable

by sageness



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genre Twist, Alternate Universe - Spy, Canon - TV, Community: mcshep_match, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-20
Updated: 2008-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your mission, should you choose to accept it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mission: Improbable

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Team Home in mcshep_match 2008. Many thanks to wesleysgirl &amp; chase_acow for beta-reading, and to Team: Home for their helpful suggestions.

Alone on the twisting, sundrenched road, John slid the disc into the car's CD player and waited, a thrum of anticipation building in his gut. His boss spoke the customary prologue, and reflexively, John hit the gas.

"Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to recover this object: a palm-sized hexagonal crystal containing top secret, eyes-only data. It was stolen from a government vault a mile below ground by disavowed agents Sanderson and Tobias. Sanderson is a skilled pilot, and Tobias is an engineer and computers expert. Yesterday they disappeared without a trace.

"Unfortunately, we don't know how large their network is or what resources they presently possess. Neither do we know whether they are delivering the crystal to an individual or if they plan to sell it to the highest bidder.

"Your team will consist, naturally, of Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, and Teyla Emmagan. It is crucial that the information on that crystal not fall into enemy hands. Your job is to regain the crystal at any cost. As always, should you or any of your team be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.

"This recording will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, John."

Weir's voice stopped.

Lowering the passenger side window, John coasted into a scenic overlook and popped the disc out of the car's player. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he Frisbee'd the CD far out over the crashing waves below. A moment later, John sped out onto Pacific Coast Highway; in his rearview mirror, a thin curl of black smoke broke apart on the ocean breeze.

 

= o =

"So do we know what's on this thing?" Ronon asked.

"No idea," John said. "Whatever it is, it's big. How many government vaults do we know of that are a mile underground?"

"We don't know that she meant a U.S. government vault," said Teyla.

"True," Rodney replied, "but I think she must have. No one has the resources to build something like that besides the U.S. and the Russians."

"The Russians?" Ronon said. "You mean old Cold War stuff? Or did we give them funding to build something new?"

Rodney drummed his fingers together in the way he did when he was trying to figure out what he could tell them without breaking any of his other confidentiality contracts. "I did some work for a while," he said finally, "where I...well; suffice it to say the Russians may well be involved. Possibly not as primaries, but they could have provided an escape route."

"You and your secret past," John said, aiming a recklessly fond glance across the table. Only, his tone missed sarcastic by a couple of miles.

Rodney's ears caught a touch of pink. "It isn't my fault I have a different security clearance," Rodney said, caught somewhere between preening and bashful. "Besides, my past isn't nearly as interesting as yours."

Ronon chose that moment to choke, loudly, on his coffee. John glared. Teyla held her tongue, but her eyes were bright with repressed mirth, so John glared at her, too, until she broke into a wide, genial smile. Scowling at his notepad while the two of them laughed seemed to John like the better part of valor. Meanwhile Rodney was ignoring them all, rifling through the photos and blurry black and white satellite images spread across the table.

Rodney took a sip of his coffee. Then he stood up and tilted his head sideways, staring at the entire mess of paper from a new angle. His eyes went wide. "Oh god, I know what it is."

John forgot Ronon and Teyla's teasing as Rodney gaped in horror. He was focused on the tabletop, fingers ticking things off one by one.

"What is it?" Teyla prodded after a long moment.

"The crystal is—" Rodney shook his head and stared at them in turn; then he started to pace. He roamed back and forth along his side of the Agency conference room, his arm stretched out like it was dowsing for a white board to sketch Rodney's thoughts on. "Okay, so, the problem is I can't tell you guys any of this." He scrubbed fingers through his thinning hair, caught himself, and glared at his own traitor hand.

"All right," he said at last. "The worst case scenario: we're looking at the annihilation of Earth's entire population...or, well, no. The worst case is destruction of all human life in the Milky Way galaxy, but that's...less immediate, potentially, than here on Earth. Um, unless it isn't."

No one answered.

"There are a ridiculous number of variables," Rodney added helplessly.

John tapped the eraser-end of his pencil on the table. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You're saying there's human life on other planets?"

Rodney's eyes went wide and he took a step back, hitting the wall behind him. Oops, John thought. "Um...no?" Rodney said. "No! Absolutely, definitely not. No, god, I have to..." Rodney spun left, then right. "I have to make a call," he said, and flew toward the room's security door.

"Wait!" Teyla called out sharply, and Rodney froze in his tracks, worry clear in his eyes. "Please tell us what the best case scenario is, Rodney."

"Reasonably?" Rodney pinched the bridge of his nose and then shook his head. "The best reasonable case scenario is that they can't make it work. Personally, I'm hoping they all get sucked into a sun and the crystal is destroyed," he said with a rueful grin. "But Clare Tobias...well, she isn't me by a long shot, clearly, but given time and decent equipment, she could probably crack it...almost certainly. I wouldn't bet against her."

"So we have to save the world," said Ronon, looking from Rodney to the files on the table and back.

"And the galaxy, too, maybe," John added, deadpan.

John and Rodney's eyes met; Rodney gulped and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Back as soon as they let me," he called as he fled through the door.

= o =

Two hours later John and his team were en route to Tomsk, Siberian Federal District, Russia. In his seat, Ronon reclined in an untroubled sprawl. Teyla had a pillow flattened against her window and a finger between the pages of a book. Both of them were, wisely, asleep. John was napping fitfully. Finally, John gave up on sleeping through the noise of Rodney's furious typing. He stood and tapped Rodney twice on the arm, meaning follow me. Rodney kept typing. John headed to the rear of their small jet, where the engine noise would cover their conversation, and Rodney followed a minute later.

John pulled him close, tucking into the empty storage space where the rear galley would have been in a normal plane.

"John—" began Rodney, but John cut him off with a kiss—a fast, hard kiss.

Then he said, "Life on other planets? A war in space the rest of us poor saps don't even know about?"

"I'm sorry!" Rodney hissed back. "I couldn't say any—"

John bit Rodney's ear and pulled him even closer, so that no space remained between their bodies. "Is there anything else I need to know?" John was thinking back to General O'Neill's terse briefing via vid-feed from the Pentagon. Not being fully briefed at the outset was at the root of every pear-shaped mission in John's entire classified and non-classified career, and no way was he risking that crap with his current team.

"No." Rodney rubbed his forehead as he thought about it. "No, I don't think so. The Trust are—"

"Rogue agents who used to work for the NID." John made a face.

"Some are isolationists and some are profiteers, but they're all willing to set other races at war against each other if they think it'll keep Earth safe."

John tipped his forehead against Rodney's. "Aliens. Seriously."

Rodney wrapped his arms tighter around John and smiled tentatively. "I did want to tell you. Sometimes I hate not being at liberty to."

John kissed him back and made absolutely no rude comments about how sometimes Rodney enjoyed the hell out of their spy games—because sometimes they all did; sometimes you had to. The kiss was lingering, deepening. John murmured, "Wish we could—"

"Mile high club?" Rodney suggested.

He chuckled, "Already got those wings, but yeah."

Rodney grinned with one side of his mouth, a little shy. "Um, me, too, actually."

John stroked cool fingers over his cheek. "Except, I'd rather wait for a bed and a few hours—" John hesitated, and then figured what the hell—he might as well ask while he had the chance. "You ever wish we could take our time?"

Rodney's nod was immediate and his eyes were bright, hungry. "Mm-hmm. A whole night—"

"A whole weekend, maybe?" John said against Rodney's ear.

John felt Rodney's lips on his cheek, their stubble rasping. "Imagine what we could do with a weekend."

"Mmm." John slid his lips over to Rodney's, kissing him softly, then harder. Another kiss and another, their arms wrapped tight around each other. Seconds turned into minutes and the minutes started piling up. A final brush of lips and John sighed, tilted his head back to stare at the muted whites and pale blues of the airplane interior, and then turned his face to Rodney.

Too soon. The sight of Rodney's mouth—his lips so red and wet—was so riveting that John had to touch it. Just a small stroke of his thumb as Rodney gazed at him, pupils blown wide.

"As much as I want to blow you right here, and I really, really do..." Rodney edged back a little. "We're on a mission," he said in his most rational voice. "Didn't we say we weren't going to jeopardize any missions?"

John nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. They weren't chest to chest anymore. Rodney had turned at an angle reasonable for holding a private conversation over the scream of the engine, but still intimate. Still a needless risk. They could do this later.

He took another breath. "Keep your eye on the prize," he said aloud, even though the words were mostly aimed at himself.

Rodney's brow furrowed in confusion until he figured out what John meant. "The prize, yes, of course."

John resisted trying for another kiss, but he gave Rodney a wry, frustrated smile as he flicked his eyes toward the front of the cabin. Rodney tightened his mouth in acknowledgment of the signal, already turning to go. John waited a five-count. Then he slipped into the lavatory and jerked himself off fast and hard, wishing for things he knew he shouldn't.

= o =

In Tomsk they were met by their contact, Ksenia Mirkova, who took them to their safe house. She began the briefing by saying: "I have infiltrated Russian Stargate Program, or what remains of it after destruction of Korolev. As you may imagine, there are large numbers of military and scientific personnel eager to, ah, skip politics and get back in game, as you say?" She smiled self-consciously and tucked a lock of mousy brown hair behind her ear. "Here I have names of ten men and women who meet ideological and psychological profiles. All had opportunity."

"Ten," John said.

"Out of three hundred," she added in haste. "I have not yet had time to narrow down according to contact with your rogues."

"I'm on it," Rodney said, opening his laptop case on the desk and sitting down.

"Cool," John answered. Then to the room in general, he said, "King Ranch Chicken okay?"

"Oh, you're cooking?" Rodney asked, perking up.

Ronon gave him a funny look. "Do we have chicken?"

John rubbed the back of his head, avoiding Teyla's knowing eye, because they weren't actually at any of his usual haunts this time. "Right. Um, let me look."

= o =

"Rodney, come eat at the table," Teyla called.

"I'll get a plate later," Rodney said, typing at lightning speed. "I just need a couple of more minutes on this. Well, maybe longer. The servers on the other end aren't what I'd call fast. More along the lines of glacial. Although global warming has totally screwed up that metaphor, hasn't it?" His fingers paused on the keyboard. "Hmm."

"You need to eat, surely," said Mirkova helpfully.

"La-la-la can't hear you!" he sang, typing again.

"Set him a place over here," said John.

"Hey!" Rodney protested. "I said it'll be faster if I keep an eye—"

"The algorithm won't search any faster with you watching it." John set the baking dish down in the center of the table as Rodney let out a great sigh.

"Fine, fine. I see how you people are."

"As you know quite well by now," Teyla responded. Rodney stretched his back and shoulders as he walked; his shirt rode up over his belly and John forgot to pretend not to watch.

Teyla nudged a chair out from the table with her toe, making Rodney welcome. Ronon picked up his fork, and John thwapped him on the arm, making him wait until everyone was at the table.

Taking his own seat, John noticed Mirkova's bemused expression. "Don't mind us, we're a little...odd...sometimes."

"You're a little odd," Rodney countered as he sat down at the table.

"You think we'll get any hits tonight?" asked Ronon, making a show of lifting his fork.

"That's why I need to watch the program," Rodney said. "Too many common variables, everyone's likely; too few and...well, either way, I have to start all over again."

"It is only ten, at least." Teyla passed the green beans and mashed potatoes.

Rodney shrugged.

An hour later, they had two likelies and only two likelies. The next hour was spent listening to Rodney quiz Mirkova about possible points of connection that might be missing or misrepresented, but in the end they were looking at the same pair of Russian scientists.

They were a man and a woman—Petrovich and Ivanova—and they had both worked on the so-called Atlantis Mystery with Tobias. Mirkova provided the addresses, the van, and the interrogation cells. She wished them luck; her part in this was done, and if she was going to maintain her cover, she had to go.

John figured that by now the crystal was hidden in a safety deposit box somewhere, or else it had ridden to Rio in someone's back pocket; but if they were lucky, one of these clowns could lead them to Tobias. And if John could get to her, he could find the crystal, he was sure.

Petrovich was a rail-thin, battle-scarred man with gray hair and thick glasses. He'd served in Chechnya. He had a daughter. He was a mathematician. Ivanova had four teenage children. Her husband was recovering from liver cancer. John let Ronon and Teyla play good cop-bad cop on them for a while. Eventually, they learned that Tobias had made them an offer they couldn't refuse—in the Godfather sense—and felt their families were lucky to be alive.

John made a secure call to the Agency and got approval for a counteroffer.

= o =

"The crystal is on another planet," John reported to Weir via satellite in his best nonchalant voice. "Tobias and Sanderson seem to have had alien—or at least orbital—assistance in getting offworld."

Weir did not seem the least bit fazed. "Do you know where they were headed?"

"I have a code. It's mike-charlie, four-eight, two-three," he answered. "They both claimed not to know what it meant."

There was a lengthy pause—so long that John checked to see if the connection had failed—until she said, "John, let me have you speak with my cohort from another department, Colonel Samantha Carter. As of now, we'll be working together on this."

"Okay."

There was another pause, but not long enough to make him believe the women were anything but in the same room together. "Hello, Agent Sheppard," she said. "You've done good work."

"Thank you."

"I'm afraid our problem has escalated far beyond the initial situation assessment that led to your assignment to this operation. That leaves us in an awkward position on a number of levels," she paused, and John held his breath. Finally, she said, "Your mission stands, but we will have to resolve your team's security clearance upon your return. In the meantime, everything you and your team learn in the course of this assignment is to be considered top secret. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, because our greatest concern at the moment is losing our covert advantage. We need to get this thing back as soon as possible."

"Well, that's what we'll do," John said.

"Yes. Yes, and I'm glad to hear it." There was another short pause. "All right, I think we're ready for the next stage. Tell your team to gear up and have your radios on. Be ready in ten minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," he said and cut the connection. "Heads up!" he yelled. "We move in ten."

= o =

There was a flash of white light. Then John and his team were standing in a gray metal room amidst a number of gray metal consoles. Several people in unfamiliar uniforms were staring at them.

Then there was a second flash of white light and they were standing on concrete in an enormous, high-ceilinged room. Above, to his right, John could see a glass-walled control room with several high-ranking military officers standing inside. To the left was a huge metal ring. Bright blue watery...light or energy or something...filled the middle of it.

"The hell is that?" said Ronon.

"The stargate," answered two voices. Rodney turned on his heel. "Sam!" he cried, beaming at her.

John turned, too. The nameplate said Col. S. Carter. Of course, she was everything Rodney liked in a woman.

"Welcome to the SGC," she said.

"That was fast," John said, and maybe his brain hadn't quite caught up with his body.

Frowning, Teyla said, "Pardon me, but perhaps you could explain what just happened?"

Carter smiled sympathetically. "You were briefly transported up from your safe house in Tomsk onto the Apollo, which is one of the ships we have in orbit above Earth, and then transported here to Colorado. To the SGC. You might be feeling a little disoriented; that's quite normal, I assure you."

"And next?" Teyla asked. Her face was devoid of expression, but there was a world of subtext in those two words and Carter wasn't deaf to it. John wanted to say, Why yes, let's take a moment to appreciate how freaky this situation really is, but Carter was talking.

"Rodney, do you remember how to dial a stargate?" she asked.

John stared at him. Rodney stammered, "I, uh, well, I never did more than watch it being done." Rodney stared guiltily back at John. Carter looked back and forth between Rodney and John. She wanted to ask—John could see in her eyes what she wanted to ask—

From a speaker above them a voice boomed, "Colonel Carter, if we could get this show on the road, please?"

"Sorry, General," she called out toward the glass. "All right, here's the plan. You're going to an uninhabited world where you'll meet your contact. He's on my team, so you can trust him. He'll train you on the DHD and GDOs so you can get in and out as fast as possible."

John looked at her skeptically. Now was not the time to throw unknown new equipment into the game. "What kind of clock are we on?"

She took a breath. "Lorne's people are doing their best to establish that right now. If Tobias and Sanderson are selling to the highest bidder, then there will be more time than if they're simply Trust agents. But if the Trust itself chooses to sell to the highest bidder..."

"They could already have a buyer waiting," said Ronon.

Carter nodded. "Lack of intel is always our biggest liability."

John turned to his team. "All right, are we ready for this?"

Teyla said, "Ready."

Ronon nodded. "Let's go."

Rodney's eyes were on Carter. "I don't suppose any of the other...players in the game know about this, um, situation? I mean, that could mean an intergalactic war on our doorstep, so to speak, and from what I understand, we simply don't have enough BC-303s to fight a war like that in our solar system. Or anywhere else, I might add."

Carter's lips thinned and her gaze darted over John, Ronon, and Teyla. "We don't have time to argue over the particulars, McKay. Just get out there, get that crystal, and bring it home, all right?"

John touched Rodney's arm and nodded to Carter.

Rodney grimaced. "This is going to be fun."

"Come on, Rodney," John said as they turned to the rack of additional SGC gear they'd been assigned. "This time we get to save the world."

= o =

Gate travel turned out to feel more than a little like an acid trip...crammed into a sliver of a second. "Trippy," John said. Ronon snorted and Rodney huffed in disdain.

On the other side, as they stood there counting their fingers and toes, they were met by a small cadre of marines and one boyish-looking Air Force major. "Gentlemen, ma'am. I'm Evan Lorne. Please come this way and I'll get you briefed on the latest."

They were led to an old fashioned—as in Vietnam-era—Quonset hut holding a meeting area, kitchen, and office. A soldier set out coffee and they all hurried to sit as Lorne brought up his Power Point presentation. "According to our asset, Tobias and Sanderson are now on MX5-624—"

"That's a designation for a planet," Rodney interjected.

"Ah, yes. Sorry. It's a little unusual to have non-SGC involvement in an operation like this."

John gave him a wry smile. "We travel quite a bit, but we've never been asked to go to space before."

Lorne nodded, and John thought he caught a glimpse of the big picture reflected in his expression. If John's team failed, then it would mean war, and everything would spiral out of control in ways that made Hollywood alien invasion movies look like kids' stuff.

"MX5-634 is the location of a former Trust base where some scientists were stationed in order to analyze technology stolen from other worlds via the Russian stargate."

"The Russians have a stargate?" said both John and Teyla at once.

Something dark glittered in Lorne's eyes. "Not anymore." He cued up the projector and dimmed the lights. "Here's a map of where you're headed. Unfortunately we don't know how many guards to expect. The headcount is inconsistent."

"Got it," said John.

"Tobias and Sanderson are involved as a couple—we think that's how all this started: he recruited her and together they've managed to pull this thing off. We don't know if either of them masterminded the plan or if they were always working on orders from higher up the food-chain. Our contact tells us that Tobias is in possession of the crystal—we think she's trying to decrypt the data on it while they await...their buyer, we presume."

"There's no way," Rodney said. "If she had months, fine, but...oh crap." Rodney's face fell.

It only took a second for John to understand what Rodney was envisioning. "You think she's part of the deal."

"Whether she knows it or not," Ronon added.

Lorne shrugged. "All I know is she's focused on the crystal, but yes. It's absolutely possible that certain parties would require her to accompany the crystal if they happened to win the bid."

"Or arrive at the transfer site first," Ronon said.

"Are they well-defended?" asked Teyla.

"For two people and a hunk of glass, I'd say so," Lorne replied. "But on the plus side, the ship that transported them off of Earth doesn't seem to have stuck around."

That was a relief. Together, they examined the map Lorne had of the complex and the lay of the land between there and the stargate.

"We get in and get out, just like always," John said.

"Good," said Lorne. "Now let's teach you guys how to use the gate."

= o =

It was the middle of the night on MX5-624, which wasn't great when you had a big blue puddle of energy whooshing into existence ahead of you, grabbing the attention of anyone in range. "All clear," Lorne told them, withdrawing the camera as John's team rushed into the blue light of the wormhole.

"You got your fancy scanner working?" John asked Rodney as he hauled him off the stone platform and into the cover of the trees behind the stargate.

"Scanning now—do you have to be so rough? I bruise very easily, you know."

Against the nape of Rodney's neck, John murmured, "Yes, I know exactly how easily." On radio, John heard the distinct sound of Teyla stifling a laugh. He bit the shell of Rodney's right ear, fast, because he couldn't help it. He couldn't help what adrenaline did to him.

From over Rodney's shoulder, John could see the scanner shaking in Rodney's hand. Four dots: that was the team. One dot at the location of the guard shack on Lorne's map. And a whole bunch of other dots down at the walled-in concrete building Tobias and Sanderson were hiding out in.

They could see the lights of the complex in the distance. It was small. That would either be very good or very bad.

Closer, there was a brief flash of light, like a door opening and closing. Ronon spoke in their ears: "Guard shack neutralized."

"Good. Go."

Then Ronon and Teyla were moving in a wide circle to the right, finding shelter behind an old concrete retaining wall. With Rodney in tow, John met them there, arriving from the opposite direction.

"I counted six on the north and east."

"Four more on the south and west."

"Inside there are two upstairs and four down," added Rodney.

"Anyone on the roof?" John asked.

"No, there's no access."

John smirked. "There's always access."

"Sure, if you're Spider-Man."

"You could make me some web-slingers," John suggested.

"And watch you dislocate both your shoulders? I don't think so."

"Rodney!" hissed Teyla.

"What?"

"Stealth now, flirt later," Ronon said.

Rodney started to sputter but Teyla laid a gloved finger over his lips and he quieted.

"Um...yeah," John said. "So, access. If we set off a distraction at the southeast corner, then we can—"

"Storm the north door," Teyla finished.

"It's too bad there isn't a watchtower or something," John mused.

"You just want a way to go in from the top," said Ronon.

John shrugged. "Target's upstairs. It makes sense."

"The prize might be hidden downstairs," Rodney said. "Or it might be on a lab bench. Or under her damn pillow."

"We won't know 'til we're there."

"This is going to be messy," Rodney said. "I hate messy."

John repressed the words on the tip of his tongue, I'll clean you up later, but from the expression on Rodney's face, he'd heard them anyway.

"Are we ready?" Teyla asked, her patience clearly wearing thin.

Ronon pulled a detonator from a pocket and pulled his black cap down low.

"North wall in five," John said.

"Got it," Ronon answered, and vanished into the night.

= o =

There were three little explosions in a row and Tobias' guards gave a collective shout of "What the hell was that?!" before two thirds of them ran to investigate. Crappy discipline, John thought as he ran full tilt toward the building's main entrance. Also, he loved it when getting rid of the guards happened so easily.

On the way to the door, he took out two guards, Teyla took out two more, including the one coming out as they were about to try to force the lock. Ronon and Teyla strode in—Neo- and Trinity-style—and cleared the ground floor with Rodney following in their wake to search every surface for the crystal. John raced for the stairs.

He was halfway up the stairwell when he found Sanderson coming through the doorway off the landing at the top. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and a tac vest and had a Ruger in his hand. It was almost too close for using the P90, and it was a crappy angle for it, but Sanderson was already squeezing off his first round. John pointed up the stairs and fired three three-round bursts. Then he hit the wall waiting to see what else came through the door at the top. Sanderson fell in a bloody heap, skidding down four steps before catching on the banister rail. Two seconds of silence passed. John took the remaining steps three at a time, reached the landing, and kicked in the door.

" 'm behind you," Ronon said. John took a step, pointing his gun left, and then right. Ronon cleared the doorway and let the door fall shut.

Where the hell is she? John thought, but he didn't speak. He gestured to Ronon, who nodded and turned left, circling around the landing. Then John heard a sharp whistle. It wasn't Ronon; it was from too far away. John rounded another corner and found a bedroom with a kicked out window. "Teyla, Rodney!" he yelled. "We have a runner—she's on the west side of the building."

"Copy that," Teyla answered. John looked at the drop and at the guards on the ground. "Shit," he said. The room was brightly lit—he couldn't be a better target. Reaching out over the sill, he found Tobias' rappelling lines and threw himself into the darkness.

The ground hit his feet before he was quite ready for it. In his head, he could hear Rodney bitching at him to leave the jumping out of windows (airplanes, trains, automobiles) for people whose knees weren't forty years old, but John found his footing and raced toward the flash of pale shoulder and dark tank top he could just see sprinting into the distance.

Behind him, John heard Ronon's guns fire, boom-boom-boom, and three darker than dark shapes fell to the ground. Tobias dropped, too, but only to take cover. John kept running.

Gunfire erupted inside the building. "Teyla! McKay!" Ronon yelled into the radio. A garble of Rodney-speak came in reply, and then a muffled hiss from Teyla.

Still alive; no call for help, was all John's brain had room to process. Tobias had her feet again, but John was close—close-and-closing.

He shoved her hard in the center of the back, forcing her into a headlong slide. He pinned her to the ground with a knee in the kidney. "Where is it?" he yelled.

"You son of a bitch, I'm going to kill you!" she screamed, squirming like a fish to get free.

"I think all your friends are dead, so go ahead and scream all you want," he said, fastening her wrists with plastic zip-strips. Then he patted her down: neck, back, ass pockets, inner and outer thighs. He bent her legs at the knee to do inner and outer calves, ankles, and boots. "Where—is—it?" he said again. Then he grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over. She spat in his face.

"Want some help?" Ronon asked from a few feet to his right.

John wiped his face on the back of a sleeve. "Thanks for that, Clare," he said, scowling. "So much for doing this the easy way." He patted down her front—no bra, but no crystal either—not in any of the eight redundant pockets of her gray cargo pants.

"Damn it," said John. "Rodney, do you read?"

"Copy."

"We are negative on the goods here. Search the building."

"Yeah, yeah, big surprise there. Okay, just give me a minute."

Several more shots rang out on the other side of the building. "Teyla!" John snapped. "Sitrep!"

There was one more burst of gunfire before her voice sounded, breathless, in his ear. "All clear. There were a number of guards outside the east wall. I am afraid two of them reached the stargate."

"Crap. Okay, we'll hope they don't have reinforcements on standby. Guys, the clock just hit double-time. Teyla, go help Rodney."

"Understood," Teyla replied.

"What do we do with her?" Ronon asked. One of his pistols was aimed at her head.

John looked down at her for a moment. "I guess that depends on her." John rolled his shoulders and hooked a thumb in his gun belt. "What do you think, Clare?"

"I think you can go fuck yourself," she said. "You're not getting anything out of me."

Scowling, John said, "You do realize there's a really big gun pointed right at your head."

She only glared back at him, stiff and defiant. John considered breaking all her fingers—she was a scientist, after all; she needed her hands. But the glint in her eye said it would be a long and ugly ordeal with no guarantee of success. They didn't have time to gamble.

John looked at Ronon and raised an eyebrow. "There isn't all that much stuff in the building, is there? You got a better look."

"There's some kind of lab downstairs, barracks, kitchen." Ronon tapped his radio. "McKay, are you in that lab?"

"Why, yes, yes I am," Rodney huffed, "and there's more useless crap in this room than I've seen since graduate school."

"Check the gray box in the corner. Under the red thing," Ronon said. "There was a box that looked like a gun safe."

"I have it," Teyla answered. And then Rodney said, "I don't suppose Princess Charming out there feels like spilling the combination for us?"

John snorted. Tobias looked like she'd as soon eat a box of rat poison. "I don't suppose it would help if I ripped out some fingernails?" he asked her.

Her stony gaze and jutting chin said, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" without saying a word.

John sighed. "Yeah, that'd be a negative, Rodney."

"Nothing's ever simple, is it?" Rodney groused, and got to work.

"So, now what?" Ronon asked, with a nod toward their prisoner.

John made a face. He hated dealing with prisoners, especially when said prisoner wasn't precisely their responsibility. But this mess was never supposed to have turned into a damned mission to space. Plus, they had no idea whether she'd cracked enough of the encrypted data to more or less embody another copy of the crystal.

"Fuck," he growled. He tore open a Velcro pouch on his tac vest and took out a rectangular black case. Ronon grunted in recognition and tightened his grip on the back of Tobias' neck. John withdrew a prefilled syringe, snapped the orange plastic guard off the needle, and jabbed the point into her thigh.

She shrieked, but she was out in less than a minute.

"Three-two-one-mark," said Rodney. John was expecting a small explosive boom, but instead he heard the tinny skreek of ripping metal over the radio. "Bingo!" Rodney yelled.

"Good," John said, letting some of his relief show in his voice. "Get ready to verify."

"Oh, believe me," Rodney said with an exhilarated laugh, "I'm ready."

A few minutes later, John was slapping Rodney's shoulder. Rodney was seated in front of his laptop, typing rapidly. "Where are we?" asked John.

"Give me twenty whole seconds to make sure it is what it's supposed to be," snapped Rodney, plugging the crystal into a silver module like a portable drive.

John turned to Teyla. She looked a little banged up, like she'd gotten into it hand-to-hand with some of them. "You okay?"

She grinned, eyes sparkling. "Very much so."

He grinned back. He knew that endorphin high. But her fight reminded him of the reason they were trying to rush. "Can it go any faster?" The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in here with a squad of fresh Trust soldiers outside.

Rodney put up four fingers, counting down in silence. Then a pause and Rodney shoved himself back from the table with a triumphant smile. "We got it!"

"Great! Let's go!" John helped Rodney shove his gear back into its pack. Then he grabbed the crystal, tucked it into his inner vest pocket, and herded Rodney and Teyla out of the building.

"Do we bring her or leave her?" Ronon was in guard position outside the front door. He nudged Tobias' leg with his boot. She lay on her side on the ground, unconscious for at least the next hour. John briefly considered leaving her where she lay and telling Carter to send another team if the SGC wanted her in custody...but there wasn't any valid reason to be an ass about it.

"Bring her," he said. "We can let them decide what to do with her."

Ronon hoisted Tobias into a fireman's carry and Teyla took point. Then Rodney dialed the stargate to Earth and used the strange little transponder-thing that opened the shield over the Earth-gate.

"Come on through," said a voice over the radio, which, well, the idea of talking to other planets on the radio just blew John's mind, but he was jogging forward after his team and then descending a ramp, and then he was under a mountain in the eastern Rockies, mission: accomplished.

= o =

"Well, Sam was very nice," Rodney said, leaning back in his seat. The debrief was over—they'd all had to sign a stack of new and retroactive nondisclosure agreements—and John now found himself in possession of a security clearance high enough that Rodney could actually talk to him about some of his other work. Ronon was off to Florida. Teyla was going back to Hawaii. John and Rodney were sharing a flight to San Francisco.

"Don't talk about Carter," John said sleepily.

"What?" Rodney asked. "I only said she was nice."

"Fine, she's nice. Go to sleep." John was stretched out as far as the Learjet's wide leather seat would allow. Rodney wasn't close enough to kiss. Also, they were almost certainly being surveilled, given that this plane was part of the Agency fleet. "Sleep," he mumbled again, and drifted off.

= o =

"Wake up, John," Rodney said. John opened one eye. "We're here." Rodney laid a hand on John's shoulder. "Come on, let's go find a bed."

"Mmm, good plan," John mumbled. Half a continent was not nearly long enough for a good nap.

There was a car waiting for them, and within half an hour, John was following Rodney into a spacious apartment on the top floor of a tricolor Victorian house on the side of an impressively steep hill.

"I thought we were going to a hotel?" he asked.

Rodney snorted. "Not so much. There didn't seem much point in it, except for the room service, but I promise you no fewer than twenty different takeout places deliver here."

"Is this a safe house?" John asked around a yawn.

"Yes and no," he said. "Well, no." Rodney kicked his shoes off in a niche between the foyer and living room and waved at John to follow. "I, um, well, I own the building, actually. I bought it back in the early-good phase of the tech boom. Downstairs, they're rentals, but this one's mine."

They'd reached the bedroom. It was cozy and done in plain, soothing earth tones. "Nice place," John said, yawning again.

"Bathroom's that way. I'm going to reset the security system. I'll be in in a minute."

John murmured his thanks, made use of the bathroom and the unopened toothbrush he found in the cupboard, guessed which side of the bed Rodney didn't sleep on, and fell into a long, deep, uninterrupted sleep.

He woke about ten hours later, according to the green-lit digital clock across the room. It took him a long moment to remember where he was and why there was a big, warm, possibly naked man sleeping against him. There was definitely a man's morning-firm cock pressed close against his ass.

Then, breathing in, he realized it was Rodney. That he was in Rodney's bed—not a safe house, not a transient haunt, but where Rodney actually lived. John rolled in Rodney's arms and woke him with one kiss, and then another, as Rodney blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"Morning," John said, even though it was still dark out.

"Hi." Rodney grinned at him crookedly. "You're in my bed."

"Yup," John said, kissing Rodney again. As usual, his mouth was wide and lush and fit against John's perfectly, just like the back of Rodney's head fit perfectly into the palm of John's hand when he cupped it.

Rodney cupped John's ass in turn. "You're happy this morning."

John snorted softly. Rodney was grinding their cocks together through the thin fabric of their boxers. "We saved the galaxy," John said.

Rodney snickered. "And now normal, Earth-based, highly improbable missions will never be the same for you, will they?"

John bit Rodney's ear. "Come on, that was cool and you know it."

Rodney grunted in either agreement or pleasure and kicked the covers back. "Naked, naked, naked. We need to be naked. Now."

John was totally on board with that plan. He kicked his boxers off and helped pull Rodney's down his broad, muscular thighs. Rodney had great thighs. And a great cock. And heavy, perfectly proportioned balls. Then Rodney spread his legs, nudging John's knee with his left thigh. It took a moment for John to pull his eyes off the newly exposed view. Rodney looked amused, but then his expression grew more attentive, more intense.

John slung a leg over Rodney's hips and leaned down to kiss him, deep and serious. He focused on tasting all of Rodney and letting himself be tasted, known, felt. Letting it be more than adrenaline—frequent, recurrent adrenaline, but, no—letting that ludicrous excuse evaporate and the truth remain.

"This is real," said Rodney. John nodded, not knowing what else to say. And then he did.

He stretched to one bedside table and hunted in the drawer for the lube he knew Rodney must keep there. When he found it, he sat back on his knees and covered Rodney's fingers with it. He used the rest to coat Rodney's cock.

"Are you—" Rodney started, but broke off when John took Rodney's wrist and placed his hand where he wanted it.

The first finger felt strange, as always. The second felt like almost. The third felt like yes. And when Rodney pushed slowly into him, John's body shifting to accommodate him, John's eyes fell shut with the resounding tremors of it, shaking him to the core. John opened his eyes on blue, on Rodney's gaze fixed on his. John reached for Rodney's face, stroked his cheek with a calloused thumb.

"Yes," John breathed. "Yes."

Rodney smiled, wide and happy, reached up for John's face, and managed to place a sloppy kiss on his lips before lying back with a scowl. "For the record, this is a terrible position for kissing. Let's turn over."

Laughing, John scooted and rolled, and Rodney plunged into him anew, kissing fiercely, and John held on, stroking as much of Rodney's body as he could.

Afterwards, sun poured in through the pale canvas curtains, painting gold stripes over the chocolate-colored sheets and across their damp skin. John felt great. "Shower or breakfast?"

"Mmm, breakfast." Rodney smiled blissfully. "I wonder if anyone delivers this early."

John eyed Rodney a little skeptically, because, seriously, who had breakfast delivered? "Or I could cook and you can shower."

Rodney stared at him and sat up, anxiety obliterating the happiness on his face. "What—?" Rodney shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Are you saying I stink or something?"

At first John was baffled, thinking maybe it was a joke gone wrong. Then he realized Rodney was serious, and god, what the hell? "Um, no? Rodney—"

"No, it's fine. I know I'm terrible at this. Mornings after, especially with people I'm in...uh, close to, are typically...well, I don't suppose it bears mentioning. Sorry," Rodney said, with a diffident shrug. "But I'll cook! It's no trouble. This is my place, after all, and you're the guest, and I can certainly manage breakfast." Rodney smiled a smile that made John's heart break a little. "So, you grab a shower and I'll—how do omelets—"

John stopped Rodney with a hand on his chest. "Rodney—"

Rodney froze in place, and then his face fell. "What?"

John knew he had to fix this. He also felt a burning need to kick the ass of whoever had given Rodney a complex over waking up with someone, but that could wait. "Stop. Wait a second, let me ask you something," John said. "What if I don't feel like being a guest?"

Rodney blinked in confusion. "What?"

"If you want to treat this like a one-night thing, then I guess we aren't...?"

After a long moment, Rodney said, "You mean—John?"

"Look, I'm—" John pursed his lips. Rodney wasn't the only one who was terrible at this. John shrugged a little helplessly. "I've got a place down the coast, so it isn't like..." John swallowed hard. "God, do I have to spell it out? I want—it's just that I don't want to be your guest. That's all."

Rodney's eyes were wide and bright blue in the morning sunlight. "That's—I mean, I really—and wow, that has to be—" Then Rodney stopped trying to speak. He leaned in, took John's face in his hands, and kissed him soundly. John hummed into the kiss with as much relief as pleasure. "Yes, then by all means," Rodney said, pulling briefly away. "Make yourself at home here—" John kissed Rodney back, long and sweet. "—with me."


End file.
